


as drop by drop fills the sea

by carrythesky



Category: Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: 4+1 fic, F/M, Fluff, author may or may not have made herself cry while writing this, spoilers for star wars rebels S4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-24
Updated: 2018-03-24
Packaged: 2019-04-07 13:30:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14082000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carrythesky/pseuds/carrythesky
Summary: Four times Hera doesn't tell him, and one time she does.





	as drop by drop fills the sea

Hera learns how to be objective from her father, who is decidedly _not_. ( _Monsoon_ , they used to call him before the war, Cham Syndulla, unpredictable and unrelenting. She has a memory of him on the holonet, rallying his resistance against Orn Free Taa and the corrupt senate. _Strength through unity,_ she remembers him shouting _,_ strong and scared all at once, _we will rise or we will fall, Ryloth, and we will do it as one!_ —)

 

Hera learns to be objective.

 

Well. Most of the time.

 

“Still not talking to me, huh?”

 

Hera scowls in her seat and keeps her eyes firmly forward. The white-blue streak of hyperspace outside the viewport usually calms her nerves after a mission, but not tonight. She hasn’t been this angry since —

 

 _Steady_ , she thinks, _steady_. ( _No,_ her veins thrum in response, _rage, rage and scream and storm_ —)

 

“Hera — ”

 

“Don’t,” she growls. There’s a beat of silence — he’s looking at her, she knows, she feels — and she digs her nails into her palms. “Don’t play with me, Kanan. You know why I’m upset.”

 

He sighs and slides into the co-pilot’s seat. “Listen, Chop’s intercepted another convoy signal — two, actually, near the Toydarian system. Hutt space, which isn’t ideal, but at least we’ll get another shot at those shield generators —”

 

“Count me out,” she snaps, surprised at the venom in her voice. This is her father talking. These are his words, his blood burning her insides.

 

Kanan’s irritation is palpable. “You’re not serious.”

 

“You ignored the mission parameters. We agreed this would be a covert operation, in and out. And now, thanks to your _heroics_ —” she glances sideways. His mouth is a thin line, but his eyes are soft, more confused than anything else. Guilt twists beneath her ribs, cold and sharp. ( _You would turn your back_ , Cham had said, snarling, the day she left Ryloth. _You would turn your back on your own blood, your family —_

 

Hera had smiled, soft and sad. _You taught me how_.)

 

Her eyes are — wet, when she blinks, Kanan’s face going blurry. Mortified, she pushes up from her seat and bolts for the cabin door, but he beats her there.

 

“Hey,” he says, his warm hands on her shoulders. “This — isn’t about the shield generators, is it?”

 

“ _Slag_ the generators,” she hisses, scrubbing a hand across her eyes. “You’re too reckless, Kanan, you — you could’ve —”

 

He pulls her close, arms encircling her waist. “I’m sorry,” he says, and the rest of her rebuke dissolves on her tongue. His cheek is soft against hers, his heartbeat a steady rhythm through his shirt. She wonders if he can hear hers, rushing like thunder in her ears.

 

 _I love you,_ she thinks. _You know that, don’t you?_

 

He’s smiling when they pull away from each other, so she punches him in the arm, hard enough to let him know she’s serious.

 

“Let’s get to work, then,” she says, and Kanan laughs.

 

\-----

 

“You’re cheating.”

 

Kanan smirks at her from across the dejarik table. “That’s a heavy accusation coming from someone who’s on her third drink.”

 

“Second,” Hera scoffs. It certainly feels like she’s had more than that — everything is slightly tilty, like a planet pulled off its axis, and warm. She can feel the heat tingling in her palms. “And it’s not an accusation. It’s a fact.”

 

“Ah. So you have proof, then?”

 

“You’re winning,” Hera says, smiling. “How else would you explain that?”

 

Kanan makes a show of crossing his arms over his chest. “Maybe you’re just not as good as you think you are.”

 

 _Get a room_ , Chop beeps in binary from across the room, and Hera almost chokes on her drink. Kanan just laughs, and she’s momentarily lost in the bright flash of his teeth, the slant of neck as his head tips back. Something unfurls in her chest, slow like sun-warmed honey.

 

 _Gods, I love you_ , she wants to say. She wants —

 

Maybe it’s the alcohol, maybe it’s not, but she’s leaning closer to him, and he’s not laughing anymore. He’s — _looking_ at her, and it feels like falling, like she’s been wrenched from hyperspace too soon.

 

“Kanan,” she says. This close, she can see that his eyes have little flecks of gold in them. “Kanan, I want to tell you —” her fingers flash deftly over the gameboard, moving her K’lor’slug into attack position — “that it’s your move.”

 

Kanan grins. “Who’s cheating now?”

 

“I think I’ll live,” Hera answers, and closes the space between them.

 

\-----

 

Hera opens her eyes. That’s her first mistake.

 

“Urgh,” she groans, or tries to. Her throat feels like it’s been scrubbed with bantha wool, and when she tries to speak again, nothing but air comes out.

 

“Zeb!” someone is shouting. Hera blinks rapidly; Kanan’s profile swims into focus, cheeks flushed and eyes blazing. “Zeb, I need that bacta, _now!_ ”

 

She tries to lift a hand. Pain erupts in her lower abdomen at the movement, and she falls still, breath hissing sharply between her teeth. Kanan swivels towards her. “Hey,” he says, his voice steady and betraying none of the wild panic in his eyes. “Hey, welcome back.”

 

“What —” she croaks, then abruptly stops, because talking hurts. She feels — heavy, like her bones are durasteel. Obliquely, she’s aware of Kanan’s hands on her, pressing something to her stomach.

 

“You’re okay,” he’s saying, “you’re okay —”

 

There’s a flurry of movement and sound, and then Zeb is barrelling into her field of vision. “Better late than never, eh, Hera?” the lasat grumbles as Kanan releases whatever he was holding. Something wet and warm seeps from the place his hands just were, and then Zeb is covering it with a bacta patch. The bandage is cool against her hot skin, and she can’t help the stuttered sob of relief that breaks past her lips.

 

“You —” she gasps, “you should — see the other guy.”

 

Zeb barks a laugh in response. “ _Karabast_ , you're makin’ jokes. Remind me never to get on your bad side.”

 

“Too late.”

 

Kanan makes a noise in his throat. He’s holding her hand, she realizes, tight enough for her to feel his fingers shaking, and when she glances up his eyes are wide. (She swallows the delirious urge to laugh, because Jedi don’t feel things like fear, not with the force at their back and in their blood. They don’t —)

 

“You’re okay,” he breathes, again. She fumbles, clutches at his fingers as hard as she can. Whatever is in bacta is definitely working, because the world is slowly going out of focus, blurring at the edges. _Kanan_ , she says, or maybe she thinks it, she can’t tell anymore. _Kanan, there’s something I need to tell you —_

 

(He’s there, when she wakes up.)

 

\-----

 

Her hands are everywhere; in his hair and at his shoulders, nails digging half-moon imprints into his skin. He’s breathing, wild and ragged against the curve of her neck, and she thinks it might be the most wonderful sound she’s ever heard.

 

“ _Hera_ ,” he gasps, and — no, _that’s_ the most wonderful sound, her name in his mouth.

 

( _I love you,_ she thinks with sudden, fierce clarity. _I love you, kanan, I love you, I love_ —

 

She’ll say it, soon, but not here. Not now —)

 

\-----

 

The last time —

 

Lothal is greener than she remembers. Plains stretch in every direction towards the horizon, rippling like waves beneath a midday sun, and Hera allows herself to look, for a moment. _Look, Ezra_ she thinks. _All of this, look—_

 

“Pass me the bit driver, would you?” Sabine asks from behind her. Hera glances over her shoulder to see her friend crouched beside the _Ghost’s_ landing gear, a pinched, frustrated expression on her face.

 

“Oh no,” she groans. “I’ve seen that look before. we aren’t going anywhere for awhile, are we?”

 

Sabine pokes her head close to the back struts. “Not if i have anything to say about it.” She extends a hand without looking up, and Hera hands her the bit driver, smiling. No matter how much time passes between her return trips to Lothal, coming back always feels like coming home.

 

“ _Mom! Aunt Sabine!_ ”

 

Hera turns, bringing a hand up to shade her eyes. A small figure is standing a short distance away, the line of his shadow rippling with the grass in the wind and sunlight catching in his green, green hair.

 

“ _There_ you are!” Sabine shouts, waving. “I could use your help, this back strut is giving me some trouble!”

 

Even from this distance, Hera can make out her son shrugging theatrically. “ _That sounds like a personal problem, Aunt Sabine!_ ”

 

Sabine fixes Hera with a knowing look. “I know where he gets _that_.” Without waiting for a response, she pushes onto her feet and takes off running towards Jacen, who shrieks with delight and bolts away.

 

Hera is sure she’s imagining it, as she watches them chase each other in circles across the field, the pressure of a warm hand resting at her shoulder, fingers grazing the nape of her neck —

 

— a voice in her ear, light as a breeze. _Hera_ —

 

She lets her eyes flutter shut. “Kanan,” she whispers, throat catching against the word. “I love you.”

 

He’s gone, when she opens her eyes. Sabine has caught up with Jacen, scooping him into her arms and lifting him high into the air, their laughter bright and lilting. Hera starts walking towards them, feeling lighter with each step.

**Author's Note:**

> come scream/cry with me on [tumblr](https://carry-the-sky.tumblr.com/)


End file.
